I called out her name when I came into the house. If only I had called out the correct name. My mistake. I would pay later. Of course she didn’t come greet me. Although she eventually came to investigate, hearing a strange voice in the house intermixed with laughter. My friend and I had settled ourselves in two comfy chairs on the cold winter’s evening and when Stella appeared all white and fluffy she stared me down and then hopped in a chair, crossed over a table and finally stood on the arm my chair. Her inspection continued until she claimed me and allowed me to rub her back.
A white haze of fur floated about the room, up into the light of the lamp, over the footstool and onto my notebook keyboard. She purred. And as I continued to chat with her owner, Stella snarled at me as if to say, “Pay attention.”
“Yes mam,” I said and she gave me a look that only a cat, sure of herself, can give. Supreme.
“She’s magical, don’t you know,” my friend said.
“Yes, her disguise is her white coat, but underneath she’s a black cat–at heart.”
And so that’s how Stella and I met.
I asked her permission to tell you her stories. So far she says, “No!”
© Glenda Kotchish
February 1, 2017